Two of a Kind
by JazzPizza
Summary: Spike and Xander talk and they have a lot more in common than they would like to believe. Set in the episode Normal Again.


   Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or her Slayerettes. I disclaim. (It sounds like a form of insult, doesn't it? 'Disclaim'. Anyway…)

   Author's Note: Last edited (albeit briefly) on 9/4/2003. 

   Spoilers: This takes place during the episode "Normal Again", when Xander and Spike are patrolling for the evil mojo-monster that attacked Buffy. Basically sixth season spoilers.

*******

  "Don't pretend to understand things you know nothing about," Xander hissed through his teeth, glaring at the vampire. "You, of all – things – a soulless monster telling me –" 

   "It doesn't matter what I am, though, does it?" Spike replied lightly. "Just hits home more because I'm saying it. But it could be anyone and it'd still be true." 

   Xander started to respond, his utter contempt making him twitch, but Spike continued, nonplussed. 

   "There's only one thing I don't understand, whelp, maybe the biggest thing- but only one thing. And that's what reason you have to have left her."

   Xander had nothing he could muster right away to say to this, so again, Spike pressed on, oblivious to Xander's growing discomfort- and obvious pain.

   "She loved you, more than anything in this godforsaken world, and you her, if I'm not mistaken. And you both wanted something – to spend the rest of your lives together. But you turned away. Because you were scared – afraid of her love? That it could fade? That you'd make a mistake and she'd never forgive you? Because that's where you lost it, you bloody poofter. She loves your faults, and your mistakes – succeed or fail, she loves you. That's what love is. You can think about it all you want, but no matter how much you want to look into those eyes and say 'I'm not going for it this time', it burns you, and eventually all you submit to is the fire."

   Xander stared in disbelief at the rambling Spike, who had averted his eyes, and was jittery – he'd never seen him this way. It seemed Spike's words were affecting both of them.

   "Gave up on love. How could you do something like that? When she loved you like she did; that you were her world. You know how many times I – how many people…that have been spurned by love, unrequited? That have been swept up in those eyes, and used, and abused, again and again, and crawled back begging for more…" Spike choked on his words, but still couldn't stop. 

   "Obsessed. Addicted. Beyond reason and time and place and circumstance. Following blindly, worshipping, faith in nothing but their love. Isn't that the thing that's supposed to make you lot human? Your emotions. Your sympathy, your mercy, your hatred – your love, above all? Humanity. Just a sodding concept blown out of proportion. I've seen humans crueller than any vampire, and demons you'd want to take home to Mum if their scales weren't so prominent. Black and white, how you put everything…no room for colour, shades of grey. Then what do you call yourself?"

   "Human. Prone to mistakes, good times, and bad times, like anyone else," Xander replied simply.

   "Hmm. Funny how mistakes make a demon – or a vampire, for that matter – worthy of slaying and a human worthy of sympathy. Needing a soul to feel things – bull, and you know it. Holy water, and crosses – how bloody Christian can you get? – and you lot don't even believe in it but you let yourself say it again and again. Vampires kill because they come out of the grave confused and that's what your body's screaming for you to do – just like being born, you do what comes natural and sod all if you know what it is. And if that gets results, then hell, you keep on. You get to like it. And yeah, most of them, they just get screwed up along the way. No value for life than how good it tastes. It's easy that way. It dulls the pain, of being dead, of never being able to go back to everything you love, that's gone. Nice to indulge in the power at first – until you can't stop. The great addiction for vampires isn't love, it's the blood. It's not about the soul. It's just a load of psychology."

   Xander cast a doubtful glance at Spike. "And Angel?"

   Spike shrugged. It seemed all the more uncharacteristic – the tirade of words had led him astray enough, but now how he could be so casual about it. "I could never explain Peaches for you. Years of twisted obsession on the kill – always the kill of one single, helpless mortal after weeks of stalking and planning – he wasn't just a killer; he was more mental than Dru. I loved the fight, the rush of it, the anticipation of the kill, the danger – just like any damn mortal if you think of it, getting themselves in over their heads, feeling indestructible. You want monster, I give you Angelus. Never knew what the hell he was thinking," Spike muttered, and dragged out a sigh. "And then, you throw the feelings of some long-dead drunken sod into him and he decides to be redeemed."

   Xander snorted and kept a laugh restrained. He and Spike shared a brief glance, and Xander couldn't help but lapse again into dangerous thoughts – of how he and Spike were alike. They both hated Angel, were protective of Dawn, they loved Buffy –

   Dangerous thoughts. Spike was nothing like him – he did this for the convenience, until he'd get rid of the chip and kill them all while they were still relying on him as part of the team.

   Part of the team. Dangerous. But why wasn't he trying to get out the damn chip? Drag out Buffy's sympathies, obviously. But then, he must not want to kill them so badly if he'd stall around just to be thrown a crumb from Buffy –

   Alike. They were alike. And he didn't want it to be, but he knew it. In so many ways…

   He resembled this soulless killer.

   And in so many ways he didn't mind –

   "Why do you care?"

   Spike glanced over, curious.

   "About Anya and I. About any of it. Why the hell do you care?"

   Spike snorted. "Don't have much else to do, whelp. Analysing your personal lives, that's the jollies for our Big Bad these days. That, and reruns on the telly, with some pig's blood, kitten poker, the companionship of a teenage hormone bomb who's got some crush on me, and a Slayer, who…well…pick today's favourite adjective and insert here. Not much of a place for a vamp in society."

   Xander almost let his face morph into a pitying look, which Spike took very badly.

   "Of course," he added abruptly, "I've a wonderful nightlife with the other Evil Dead ones in the town. We have parties with alcohol and sex and plenty of death and blood and happy times for Spike."

   Xander just laughed.

   "You're pathetic."

   Spike glowered.

   "But in a good, wholesome, I won't-stake-you way.  For now. You being evil, and dead, it will happen eventually," Xander assured.

   "So we mutually are not on good terms, will insult each other – but there will be no weapons involved," Spike concluded.

   "The weapons part is yet to be determined, but I think you got the gist. And for the record, I know it was stupid."

   Spike merely looked askance.

   "Anya," he said in explanation. "And – well, you really don't – well, I'm not going to satisfy you with the rest of that."

   Spike smirked.

   "And – don't do something like that to Buffy."

   "Why?" Spike asked, his face an undeterminable blank.

   "Because we could use you around. And Dawn thinks you're cool. She used to have a crush on me, you know," he admitted, almost wistfully.

   Spike smiled slightly, but almost sadly. "Right then. We'll skirt the issue of the Slayer, you knowing full well how I feel about her. And Dawn's thing, well, it's the bad boy trend. Infectious with teens today."

   Xander was going to respond- with something, he didn't know quite what, Spike was making things difficult and he knew it- but the vampire cut him off quickly.

   "Let's go find ourselves a demon," he said abruptly. 

   "Demons. Right. Evil bads."

   Spike smirked. "Yeah. Evil bads. Ironic, ain't it?"

   The vampire strolled off into the night, the mortal trailing behind him reluctantly. The words that had now faded on the breeze, soundless, still resounded in his head. Mortal and vampire.

   Two of a kind.


End file.
